


Tranquility

by MinP1072



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gutterbugs, Le Classy Caniveau, Smut, Tumblr Prompt, promptathon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-06-02 21:16:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6582748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MinP1072/pseuds/MinP1072
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From Anon: I’d love to see @minp1072’s take on Red & Liz taking a bath (that ofc turns really steamy!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tranquility

**Author's Note:**

> Placed in the world of my existing fic, Gone, Baby, Gone, for the ease of an existing relationship. All you need to know is that after the shooting of Tom Connolly, Red took Liz to São Tomé, an island off the coast of Africa, to hide out in a borrowed beach house. This little interlude takes place after things have…progressed, some (call it the middle of chapter 8)…

She wakes muzzily, her head full of cobwebs, or is it… sand?

She groans, blinking sand out of the corners of her eyes as she opens them. There was Red — _Ray_ , she thinks, bemusedly affectionate — on his haunches beside her, a hand on her shoulder, his face lively with amusement.

“There you are, sweetheart,” he says. “You were dead asleep. Dreaming?”

Something flirts at the edge of her consciousness, gentle and warm, but it’s gone now.

“I… I can’t remember,” she answers sleepily, struggling to a sitting position. “What time is it?”

“About five-thirty,” he says, taking her hand so they can pull each other to their feet. “You’ve been out here for hours.”

She groans again, stretching out her stiff limbs. Everything feels gritty — she looks down to see that she is _covered_ in sand. She puts a hand to her hair and grimaces at the feel of grimy tangles.

“I think you rolled off your towel,” Red offers, barely suppressing his mirth. “Are you sure you weren’t dreaming? About anything… in _particular_?”

He reaches out at the last and runs a warm hand over her bare, sandy belly. She shivers in response, and then again as she realizes how chilly it has gotten with the passing of the late afternoon sun. He wraps an arm around her, tugging her into the warmth of his body.

“Come on,” he says cheerily. “You can shower off the worst of it, and I’ll draw you a hot bath.”

She sighs contentedly, burrowing as close as she can and still walk, enjoying the haze of happiness, trying not to think about what it really means.

* * *

Marginally cleaner and warm again, she turns off the shower and sticks an arm out of the stall to grab her towel, and finds his hand, instead. Laughing, she lets him pull her out of the shower stall and into his waiting arms.

His eyes glint in that dangerous way as they slide over her body, naked and dripping wet, rosy pink from her afternoon in the sun. He licks his lips, almost unconsciously, and lowers his head to kiss her, licking at the water droplets clinging to her mouth.

She murmurs into his mouth, tilting her head for better access, slipping out her tongue to tangle with his. How she adores this side of him — the unfettered joy he takes in her, in their lovemaking; the way he can’t seem to resist touching and tasting at the least opportunity.

Just as her thoughts begin to blur, her hands fisting tightly in the back of his shirt, he pulls away from her with a little noise of regret.

“I promised you a bath,” he says softly, kissing her forehead, cheek, lips once more. “The water’s cooling while we stand here.”

She lets go of him reluctantly — another time, she’d forget all about the bath in favour of him, but she can still feel sand in all sorts of regretful places, and a soak sounds heavenly. He smiles at her — the wide, real smile that she prefers, that lights up his face and crinkles his eyes — and turns to the side with a sweeping gesture.

She laughs a little, and steps past him to the side of the large soaker tub. She can feel the heat coming off the water, and it teems with bubbles that smell tantalizingly of lemon and thyme. She eases into the water with a sighing moan of delight. He’s by her side almost instantly, kneeling beside the tub and stroking back her wet hair, encouraging her to lean into the slanted back.

She lies back obediently, letting the heat soak through her muscles, into her bones, wiggling her toes in contentment. Luxuriating, she looks over at him with slanted eyes, and offers him a slow, suggestive smile.

“Your shirt’s all wet,” she says. “You should take it off before you catch a chill. In fact, I think you’d better join me.”

He raises an eyebrow, then smiles back. Standing up, he peels off his soaked shirt, then loosens and steps out of his shorts and underwear.

“Move up?” he asks, then slides smoothly in behind her, shifting around with only little movements of water to cradle her between his legs.

She shifts back into him with a murmur of pleasure, letting her hands drift over his thighs to drop back into the water beside them. He rests his cheek on her head, relishing the feel of her warm body against him, the easy comfort they now share. His arms around her, the hot water soothing, are all like a dream to him, even after long days of being together.

 _But a lifetime_ , he thinks ruefully, _still won’t be enough_.

She wriggles her toes again, and breaks into his thoughts with a heavy sigh.

“There’s still sand between my toes,” she says, a little cross. “I need to wash, but…” she hesitates, then turns her head to rub her cheek gently against his shoulder. “I don’t want to move.”

He chuckles a little, warming further at her words, her quiet display of affection.

“Why don’t you let me take care of that?” he says, and plants a firm kiss on the top of her head.

* * *

The feel of his strong fingers massaging shampoo into her scalp is marvelous — it makes her whole body go limp between his legs. He rubs and soothes, washing out the grit, fingers carding through the tangles with the utmost care. When he’s done, minutes later — or maybe hours, his hands have eased her away from reality — he reaches over the side of the tub and lifts a pitcher of clean, warm water for rinsing. Tipping her head back with the gentlest tug on her hair, he pours water over her, following the stream with a stroking hand.

He follows up with conditioner, making an equally thorough job of it, easing out the last of the tangles and knots. He rinses with clean water again, running his hands softly over her head again and again, down her shoulders, soothing and awakening all at once.

Putting the pitcher down, he reaches around her for the body wash; fills his hands with liquid soap. He starts at her neck, caressing with his fingers, soap lathering thickly under his hands. As he works his way across her shoulders, down her arms, his long fingers wrapping around her, digging in gently, she starts to droop a little lower in the water.

He chuckles again, low and deep, the vibrations echoing in her ribcage and stomach, sending little frissons of arousal through her. He slides his hands around her torso to cup her breasts, and her body starts to truly come awake.

She moans softly as he swirls lather over her skin, grazing her nipples over and over, until they are stiff and puckered, straining for more of his touch. As her breath starts to quicken, he strokes down her torso, over her belly, tracing her pelvic bones lightly with soapy fingers before moving on to her thighs, lifting them out of the water to ensure they are fully clean.

“Bend your legs,” he orders, his voice rough in her ear.

She complies, desire now a hot pool deep within that surges as he presses into her back so he can reach her feet, his cock long and hard along her spine. She can still feel the press of his fingers on every inch of skin; she is clothed in his touch, restless with want.

Then she giggles as he rubs his fingers between her toes and along the soles of her feet; suddenly ticklish, she squirms back against him, rewarded by the hitch of his breath as she rubs against his hard length.

He gets more soap and runs his hands back up her legs slowly, circling her calves, tracing thin lines up her inner thighs. She shudders, laughter forgotten as quickly as it came, her body hot and yearning. She moans, louder this time, as he reaches her centre and starts rubbing inward bit by bit, coming tantalizingly close, then easing away, teasing.

He’s touching her everywhere, everywhere _but_ where she needs him, and she’s a live wire under his hands, every inch of her lit and sparking. She clings to his legs, writhing now, her head back on his shoulder. He’s murmuring things that she can’t quite grasp as he finally gives in, his thumb pressing firmly into her clit exactly as he slides two fingers inside her.

She gasps aloud, _Ray_ , and it’s so much, too much, it’s overwhelming, and she’s aching for him, aching and lost.

He whispers his pleasure into her ear, “So wet, so ready, turn around now, come to me, Lizzie, love.”

His hands move to her waist, urging, and she struggles to turn, banging her knees on the tub as they shift so she’s straddling his legs, cradling him, now. She presses her forehead to his, their eyes locked together, her arms around her neck, as she sinks onto him with a small sound of pleasure.

They shudder together, complete here and now; she’s still soapy, slippery in his arms as they start to move together. His hands push into her lower back as she rises and falls over him, her eyes still never leaving his, their breath mingling, water splashing at the sides of the tub. She’s flushed, hot with arousal, with the build of her impending orgasm; she thinks she might just dissolve into steam and disappear.

“Come, now, sweetheart,” he breathes, hips thrusting into hers, tension cording his arms where they hold her. “I…I’m so close, Lizzie, please, that’s right, go over now…”

His words weave into the spell he has woven around her with his hands and body and care, and make everything _more_. It’s just enough to have her tumbling into a dreamy climax that spirals endlessly through her, no less intense for its sweetness.

On her sighing moan, as her hands tighten around the back of his neck, mirroring the clench of her inner muscles around him, he orgasms with her, sighing her name as he pulses inside her.

Replete, then, her limbs heavy with satisfaction, she meets his lips finally, her kiss fraught with an emotion she can’t name, her heart full, full of him.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs between kisses, his hands on her back stroking once more, gentling her. “My Lizzie, my love, you’re mine, Lizzie, mine…”

 


End file.
